Grieving.

Black bodies are swinging.

Black bodies are swinging from the barrel of a police officer’s gun.

Today’s noose is handed out by those sworn to protect and serve.

Black lives. Blue lives. Matter.

Except the one which doesn’t receive protection, b l a c k.

Just when the pain of one death passes, another one happens. Another hashtag, more outrage & no justice.

We deserve justice. And are justified in our rage.

I am so tired, I don’t know which direction to head in.

Where do I direct my rage? White people, the media, society, police officers, our government, and oppression.

What are we supposed to do? Riot, disrupt, vote, sit in, and shut down.

All I know right now is grief. Grief for those bodies of my brothers and sisters.

Our melanin is not menacing. I want to scream it. We are human, we are real.

Our melanin is not menacing.

Black men you are loved. Throughout all of this — you are loved.

Your fate is not a hashtag. Don’t let them paint you and portray you as if your destiny boils down to being another statistic. You are so much more than that.

We see it, I promise.

I can only focus on telling the black men in my life how much I love them, in order to keep the rage at bay.

’Cause let me tell you how the flashes of someone I love being tied up by that noose, smelling of gun powder, so frequently runs through my mind.

Everyone is searching for a solution and coming up empty. Patience is carved and chipped with each death.

They say why don’t we come together as a community? When really they only want us to come together and mourn — peacefully.

One day it won’t be enough to sit in and shut down,

we will come for our justice with our grief nestled close to our rage.